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Here’s a holiday gift from me to you. Petticoats and Push Up Bras was inspired by my former job as a costumed tour guide at the Boston Tea Party Ship and Museum, with a sprinkle of voyeurism, and a heroine who’s worried about the imminent zombie apocalypse. It’s a few years old, but a fun little free story.

Instead of a photo of the boat—here’s a picture of me at my former job. I can’t believe it’s been twenty years since then!

I’ll be back to do a year in review between now and Jan 1. Happy holidays!

Petticoats and Push Up Bras

Delilah Night

“Dump the tea!” My voice rang out in defiance of the British and their illegal taxes.

“Into the sea!” My brave revolutionaries chanted as they followed me down the gangway to the ship.

“Dump the tea!”

“Into the sea!”

“Follow me!” My lips curved, waiting for the tourists to take the bait.

“Into the sea!” They burst out into laughter.

As I led the final tour of the day toward the ship, I flashed Jeff a saucy smile. The period costumes made most of us look frumpy, but Jeff looked like he was born to wear a vest and cravat. Throw in a convincing British accent, and he was sex on a stick. He winked in return as he moved his group from the ship to the attached floating museum.

“Welcome to the Brig Beaver,” I paused for the inevitable snickers. Please let me keep a straight face this time. Of the three ships involved in the Boston Tea Party, they chose to get a replica made of The Beaver?

Setting the stage for the events of December 16, 1773 involved a great deal of theatrical shivering and emotional rhetoric. My group of patriots got into the spirit of things, shrieking their defiance of British taxation while tossing crates of tea into the waiting harbor. Afterward, I posed for pictures with guests from Kansas, Singapore, and Poland while other guests explored the Beaver. As the clock ticked toward closing, I gently herded them off the ship, through the museum, and into the gift shop.

“All clear! Nate and Diane, you opened, so head off,” Jeff called out. “Hannah, I’ll take the museum if you’ll close up the ship? I’ve hauled those damn tea crates back up to the deck so many times today I’d rather cut the ropes than do it again.”

“Sure.”

“My savior!” Jeff fell to one knee, hand over his heart.

“Uh huh.” Amused, I shook my head at his theatrics and headed back to the Beaver.

On board, I grabbed hold of the thick ropes, and hauled the four dripping Styrofoam crates of tea up for the night. I yanked canvas tarps over the hatches and tied them down.

The lapping of water against the ship as the tide came in drowned out the ambient urban noise. Some might find it peaceful. I found the lack of honking horns and screeching sirens disquieting.

Gingerly, I descended the steep stairs down into the hull. Unlike the original Beaver, our replica had an empty hull divided into two parts by a wall of faux wooden tea crates. Near the ladder was a sleeping berth, a table with a few replica artifacts, and some interactive exhibits. Behind the crates of tea was the small cargo hold showcasing ballast stones and wall displays with more information about the events pre- and post-Tea Party.

The two light bulbs cast a miserly glow, throwing most of below decks into shadow and darkness. Brimming with tourists, the space was claustrophobic. Empty, it was cavernous and creepy. Who knew what manner of creature was waiting for me just outside the small pools of light? I immediately regretted bingewatching season one of The Walking Dead last night.

“Scurvy wench, are you still down there?”

“Be up in a second,” I yelled back, relieved that my voice was steadier than my nerves.

I was surprised to hear Jeff’s footsteps on the deck overhead. He was typically more the “you do your task, I’ll do mine” type. All the same, I was grateful to see his boots appear as he climbed down. My imagination didn’t fixate upon things that went bump in the night around him, preferring far more pleasant nocturnal activities.

“Yes, thanks. I’ve been working really hard on my tour,” I smiled at him.

Jeff glanced at my wrist. “Let me give you a tip? Don’t let Andrew see you wearing a Hello Kitty watch. He’ll be an ass and lecture you that it’s not period.”

Ugh, Drew, if I hear “not period,” one more freaking time…

“Seriously? Why is he so strict? Is he going to buy me a period timepiece?” I pulled off my white cap and shook my hair free as I rolled my eyes. “Am I going to get in trouble for mascara, too? Where’s the line?”

Jeff gave me a slow once over. “Who knows what infractions you’re committing under your petticoats, m’lady? I’d be happy to give you a full inspection. I’m pretty sure that you’re wearing a bra, but I’d have to remove your corset and shift to be sure. We can catalog all the items you need to remove to ensure your authenticity.”

“Jeff, I—”

When he pressed a kiss to my neck, my words blurred into a moan. His teeth scraped my skin as he bit down gently, then laved the spot with his tongue. “I’m just trying to keep you out of trouble.”

“Sure you are,” I panted.

Jeff took me by the hand and led me behind the crates to the cargo hold. His mouth burned a path down my neck to my collarbone as his clever hands unlaced my corset.

My lips met Jeff’s hungrily as my back collided with the hull. I pushed Jeff’s tri-corn hat from his head so I could fist my hands in his thick brown hair. He parted his lips to let me explore uncharted territory, and his tongue teased mine as his hands traveled over my cotton shift.

Jeff broke the kiss. He gently pulled at the shift’s neckline. Peering down, he shook his head. “I don’t think they had blue lace bras in the Colonies,” he tsked. “No Ye Olde Felicity’s Secret for the maidens to shop at. I think I’ll need to check under your skirts as well.”

My breathing was shallow, as if I were still corseted. It was one thing to flirt and make out with Jeff, but entirely another to take it that far. I wavered, tempted by the pulsing between my legs. My relationship was on the rocks…

Footsteps on the deck above reverberated above us.

“Zombies!” I squeaked.

Jeff did a double-take, not quite stifling a snicker, “Did you just say zombies?”

Andrew’s voice echoed through the hull. “I think you’ll find this is a great location for your company party. We’ll do the full show, and then some of my actors can circulate while others serve hors d’oeuvres. This way.”

Jeff and I peered around the tea crates. Red high heels slowly descended the steps.

Jeff pulled me backwards, covering my mouth. “Shhh! There’s no reason for them to look back here. The interesting displays are out there.”

“What’s the big deal? We can just tell them we were closing up the ship,” I hissed, about to stand up.

He tugged me back down. “It’s not the first time I’ve gotten caught closing up the ship. Drew won’t believe you. C’mon, Hannah, please?”

I reconsidered. It might be embarrassing for him to get caught (again). I had bigger problems to deal with, chief among them the secret that our boss was also my boyfriend.

Drew and I had been dating for a few weeks when I’d gotten laid off from my crappy retail gig.

“Why not come work for me? You’re a history major. It would be a good fit.”

Taking the job had seemed like a great idea at the time. I could earn money and work at a job related to my major and hang out with my adorable new boyfriend. What could possibly go wrong?

The job wasn’t the problem. Doing the show was a blast. I loved making the Tea Party and the American Revolution come alive for the guests. The major drawback of the job was Andrew.

My adorable boyfriend turned out to enjoy the sound of his own voice more than anyone else’s. Worse, he was a dullard in the bedroom. I wanted to dump him, but I was worried that potential consequence of doing so was unemployment. I’d taken to praying to the Powerball Gods to free me from my dilemma. Sadly, the zombie apocalypse had better odds than hitting the jackpot.

“Will you be wearing one of those costumes? I can just picture you in tight black pants and an eye patch.”

Jeff rolled his eyes at me. “Not good at distinguishing historical events from Johnny Depp movies, is she?” he murmured in my ear.

“It’s not a pirate ship,” Drew said. “But I can threaten to make you walk the plank if you’re a bad girl.”

Gross. How fucking cheesy can you get?

“And what if I’m a good girl?” the woman purred.

Blech. You two deserve each other.

“This is like listening to terrible porn,” I whispered.

Jeff and I lay frozen behind the crates, listening to the activity on the other side. Drew and his paramour were noisy, slurpy kissers, but the sound was oddly arousing. Hearing them go at it reminded me of what Jeff’s lips had been doing to me moments earlier.

It seemed like we were going to be here for a while. I nibbled along Jeff’s jaw line to his lips. He quizzically raised an eyebrow at me. I nodded my assent. Our kisses, careful and quiet, echoed the kisses that were growing more heated at the other end of the ship.

I heard the metallic zing of a zipper. “Oh yeah, baby, take all of it,” Drew moaned.

“You have such a big cock,” she cooed. Rhythmic sucking and moaning ensued.

Such a big cock? She must be trying to get some kind of discount.

I’d been second-guessing hooking up with the hottest guy on the ship while my boyfriend was getting head from strangers? So he was just boring in bed with me? Any guilt I’d harbored before their arrival was now gone.

“I would. But going commando. In these. Would chafe. My favorite. Body parts,” his staccato whispers burst forth with each thrust of his hips against my hand.

“Hypocrite. I’ll have to give you ten lashes for that,” I murmured. “We’ll have to see if the cat-o-nine-tails on display really works.”

Jeff buried his face in my neck and moaned as his thrusts sped.

“Fuck. Don’t stop, baby!” Drew moaned. “Suck it!”

“Hannah,” Jeff groaned into my ear. “Suck it.”

I slithered down his body, careful not to bump the tea crates that kept us hidden. Freeing his cock from distinctly not-period red boxer briefs, I smiled in anticipation. I caught Jeff’s gaze and without looking away, l licked his cock from root to tip. My tongue made lazy circles around the head.

Jeff kept mouthing the word “please,” his expression growing more and more agonized. When I deep-throated him, he grabbed his tricorn hat off the floor and bit down on it to keep from making any sound.

“Christ, Hannah,” Jeff mumbled around the felt of his hat. “Your accent shouldn’t be the only oral talent on your resume.”

I heard the sound of things falling to the floor. “Up on the table, gorgeous. You’re not going to need that. No, leave the heels on, it’s wicked hot,” Drew said.

“It’s a front-clasp bra,” the woman instructed. “Mmmm, yes… Do that.”

“Come, here,” Jeff pulled me astride him. Taking his cues from the other couple, Jeff untied my shift, slipping it from my shoulders. Discarded, it pooled at my waist. “I see yours is not a front-clasp bra” he breathed in my ear. Jeff executed the kind of one-handed bra removal that only someone who’d had plenty of practice could manage.

My nipples puckered in the cool air of the hold. Jeff leaned forward to take one into his mouth. The warm tip of his tongue flicked my nipple as he sucked. His fingers tugged gently at my other nipple.

“Is it playing voyeur that’s got you so hot, or is it the risk of getting caught playing hide the musket?” Jeff’s breath was hot against my earlobe. His cock was hard as a length of iron against my thigh.

“Ooh, that’s so good, Drew!” the girl moaned. “Fuck me!”

“Fuck me,” I echoed urgently.

“Good thing I was a boy scout.” Jeff reached into a knothole and pulled out a condom.

My eyes widened in surprise. There was a difference between hooking up on the ship and doing it so frequently that he kept supplies down here. By the time I had finished processing what he’d just seemingly pulled out of thin air (or, more accurately, thick wood) Jeff was repositioning me astride him. I hesitated for a moment.

“You’re the hottest chick I’ve ever had,” Drew grunted as the slap of skin on skin reverberated throughout the hull.

Now that’s just uncalled for.

Impaling myself on Jeff’s cock, I decided to give him a better ride than Drew had ever gotten from me.

“I doubt he’s had much opportunity for comparison,” Jeff murmured.

If only you knew, Jeff.

I moved cautiously, trying not to create the same loud noises giving away every thrust by the other couple. I circled my hips, pretending I was a stripper convincing a client that the champagne room would be worth the money.

“Do you wish I had you out there, bent over the captain’s table? Above deck, tied to the mast? A history major like you would probably love to get off in front of the Sam Adams portrait,” Jeff hissed as I took us higher.

“Why not go crazy and bend me over the display with the original tea chest in it?” I panted back, hips rocking.

“Christ, Hannah. Every time I’m in the museum from now on, that’s all I’m going to see.”

“Good.”

We were no longer completely silent, but the other couple seemed oblivious to us.

The woman’s moans from the other side of the boxes were starting to take on a bored tone. “Drew, that’s so good. Come for me, baby.”

That’s what I say when I want him to finish so I can masturbate once he’s gone home. Finding out that it’s more fizzle than sizzle with Drew, are we, mystery lady?

Jeff continued to describe crazy scenes. The gift shop’s contents, which has seemed like a jumbled mishmash of stereotypical souvenirs, now sounded positively pornographic.

“Want to hear more?” Jeff teased, pausing in his description.

“Yes, please,” I begged, eager for more.

Exactly what kind of mind did you need to come up with the idea to do that with a tea kettle? More to the point, how can I convince him to do it to me?

“Drew, yes, please!” She was losing enthusiasm fast.

“I’m going to come,” I whispered. “Cover my mouth, but keep talking.”

Jeff was mid-soliloquy describing all the places on the site he could tie me up using only a logo sweatshirt when my orgasm hit. It was the kind of typhoon whose monstrous waves were powerful enough to break apart the Beaver. I couldn’t help it, I moaned loud enough that Jeff’s hand didn’t adequately muffle it.

“Yeah, you love it, don’t you?” Drew groaned.

Thank God, he thought it was her.

“I can’t take much more! Come, please!” Her tone was taking on the same level of desperation the voyagers aboard the S. S. Minnow felt when their three hour tour turned into a multi-year stay on a desert island.

“I can’t take much more, Han. Can I come?” Jeff begged. I nodded enthusiastically.

“Baby!” Drew howled his orgasm.

“Hannah,” Jeff cried against my neck. I felt his body spasm as he came, and his head fell forward to rest upon my shoulder.

Jeff and I were still breathing heavily when Drew spoke.

“Fuck, that was hot. C’mon, I’ll take you up to my office,” Drew said. “We can sign the contracts and watch the playback from the security cameras.”

“Security cameras?” the woman sounded doubtful.

“Security cameras?” I gasped.

“I put in two after I caught one of my guys down here with chicks like, I dunno, six or seven times,” he laughed.

Jeff flinched. “Fuckfuckfuckfuck.”

“Wicked big pussyhound. He liked the captain’s table and behind the boxes over there. He must’ve found out because it’s been like three weeks and no action. But thanks to him we can see our own little video.”